T£^ 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 


T^  y 


THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  ILLINOIS 

LIBRARY 

au.oa 

P39I 
OOP-  "2> 


ST.  LOU  IS 

BEAUTIFUL  ILLINOIS 
RIVER  VALLEY  SCENIC 
ROUTE,  STARVED  ROCK, 
GRAND  VIEW  DRIVE, 
AND  PEORIA'S  FAMOUS  PARKS 


Deirdre 

Through  the  world  lonely, 
I  must  be  wending 
Questing  with  only 
Beauty  the  ending: 
If  you  would  speed  me 
Bravely  along 
Kindly  ohe  ,  feed  me 
Morsels  of  song. 

'Pilgrimage1 


Book  of  Verse 


Published  for 
THE  PEORIA  ALLIED  ENGLISH  INTERESTS 

by 

THE  MANUAL  e/lRTS  PRESS 
^Peoria,  Illinois 


Copyright,  1922 

The  Manual  e/lrts  ^Press 

12<P21 


. 'Of 


FOREWORD 

IN  THE  fall  of  1921  a  group  of  men  and  women  in 
Peoria  were  considering  ways  and  means  of  stimulating 
a  wider  interest  in  poetry.  This  group  was  known  as  the 
Allied  English  Interests  because  it  had  acted  as  a  committee 
in  bringing  to  Peoria  several  world-famous  poets,  and  be- 
cause it  was  organizing  to  undertake  larger  activities  in  the 
field  of  literature.  A  member  of  the  group  suggested  that 
one  way  of  stimulating  interest  in  poetry  would  be  to  gather 
together  the  best  poems  that  have  been  written  by  Peorians, 
and  publish  them  as  a  community  undertaking.  This  sug- 
gestion was  approved  by  the  group,  and  Miss  Caroline  Rice, 
head  of  the  English  Department  of  the  Peoria  High  School, 
chairman  of  the  group,  appointed  the  undersigned  committee 
to  carry  the  suggestion  into  effect. 

A  list  was  made  of  residents  and  former  residents  of 
Peoria  who  were  known  to  have  written  in  verse  form. 
Letters  were  sent  to  these,  explaining  the  project  and  asking 
each  writer  to  submit  from  one  to  six  of  his  poems  for  the 
consideration  of  the  committee.  The  newspapers  assisted 
very  cordially,  and  within  a  short  time  about  two  hundred 
contributions  were  in  the  hands  of  the  committee.  All  of 
the  contributions  were  read  by  each  member  of  the  com- 
mittee, and  then  a  series  of  committee  meetings  was  held 
which  resulted  in  eliminating  about  half  of  the  contributions 
and  expressing  unanimous  approval  of  many  of  the  remaining 
ones. 

Meanwhile,  Professor  John  T.  Frederick  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Iowa,  editor  and  publisher  of  The  Midland,  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  read  the  poems  picked  out  by  the 
committee  and  make  the  final  selection  for  the  volume.  This 


6i~t*y-i  Oft 
/  fJL&& 


he  did  in  August,  1922,  and  his  work  resulted  in  the  choice 
of  the  sixty-four  poems  which  appear  in  this  volume. 

The  committee  is  grateful  to  all  persons  who  sent  con- 
tributions— to  those  whose  poems  were  not  selected  as  well 
as  to  those  who  were  more  fortunate.  Every  contribution 
helped  in  carrying  forward  the  committee's  work.  The  com- 
mittee is  grateful,  also,  to  the  several  persons  who  assisted 
in  an  advisory  capacity.  And  each  member  of  the  com- 
mittee feels  personally  indebted  to  Professor  Frederick  for 
the  special  service  he  rendered  in  making  the  final  selection 
and  writing  the  introduction  to  the  volume. 

The  drawings  for  the  decoration  of  the  volume  were 
made  by  Miss  Leila  M.  Thompson  of  Peoria,  and  the  forms 
selected  were  suggested  by  the  modest  shingle  oak  which  is 
one  of  the  characteristic  trees  found  on  the  hillsides  and  in 
the  river  bottoms  around  Peoria. 

The  Committee, 
HUGH  COOPER, 
JENNIE  M.  CONSTANCE, 
EMILY  F.  JOHNSON, 
ELIZABETH  V.  ROBERTS, 
CHARLES  A.  BENNETT, 

Chairman. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword  ......................................     3 

Introduction  ....................................     9 

John  T.  Frederick 

Frontispiece  £  rf/fl  M   Thompson 


The  New  Building  ...............................    11 

Easter  ........................................    13 

Before  Man  Was  ................................    14 

Julia  Proctor  White 
Santa  Claus  ....................................    15 

John  J.  O'Keefe 
Song  of  the  Steam  Shovel  .........................    16 

The  Two  Gods  ..................................    18 

Josephine  Bowman  Wetzler 
Five  Sonnets  ...................................   20 

John  Lancaster  Spalding 
The  Army  of  the  Grass  ...........................   25 

Apple  Trees  in  California  .........................   26 

Across  the  River,  Peoria  ...........................   27 

Elizabeth   Worthington  Denison 
My  Last  Cigar  ..................................   28 

But!  ..........................................  30 

Robert  J.  Burdette 
The  Birthplace  of  Burns  ..........................   33 

Robert  G.  Ingersoll 
On  the  Heights  ......................  .  ...........   34 

A  Winter  Parable  ................................   36 

Julia  Harriette  Johnston 


6  CONTENTS 

Homesick 39 

Ann  Callender  Bur  dick 

Hymn 40 

A  Child's  Prayer 41 

William  Hawley  Smith 

Robert  Burns 42 

Only  Parted 44 

Samuel  Patterson  Prowse 

Selfishness 45 

George  Helgesen  Fitch 

Experience 46 

Living  Lightly 47 

William  James  Leach 

A  Triad 48 

Ellen  Galusha  Smith 

Home 50 

At  Bedtime 51 

Eugene  de'Aguero  Brown 

Jazz 52 

Achievement — Instinct 54 

Perspective 56 

Arthur  Galusha  Smith 

Thanksgiving 57 

Florence  Jeffers  Shearer 

I  Must  Go  Back 58 

/.  Merle  Stevens 

Sunrise  on  the  Prairie 60 

The  Exultant 61 

Katharine  Hart 


CONTENTS  7 

When  Baby  Writes 62 

This  Day 63 

Claude  Holland  Gamble 

Little  Old  House 64 

Rain 65 

W.  Kee  Maxwell 

Youth 66 

Julia  Kempshall  Clark 

Unity 68 

Haskell  Ready  Armstrong 
My  House  of  Fame 69 

Frances  Nancy  Martin 

Life's  Circle 70 

Doubting  Thomas 72 

William  Alexander  Bone 

The  Mutual  Friend 75 

Ernest  A.  Pasquay 

Life's  Promise 76 

Bessie  Curran  Smith 

Westminster  Abbey 77 

Ella  Beseman 

Justice 78 

Mark  Langdon  Rowell 

Allegory 80 

Joseph  Rowe  Binjord,  Jr. 

A  Romance  of  the  Springtime 81 

Liesel  Bewsher 

Oh,  What  a  Day! 82 

Ruth  Virginia  Gibson 


8  CONTENTS 

Even  as  These 83 

Philip  Leigh  Gibson 
Shrine 84 

Helen  Ida  Morrow 

Friend 86 

Harvey  Norman  Ringel 

A  Busy  Corner 87 

Russell  Edward  McMurray 

Melancholy 88 

Lawrence  Willard  Cockrell 

Spring 89 

Alsace  Moine  Crosbie 

The  Cliff 90 

Alice  Loveridge 

Moonrise  on  a  Misty  Evening 91 

Thelma  Lorraine  Crosbie 

Blossom-Shrine 92 

Camille  Mahannah 

Indian  Women 93 

From  the  Desert 94 

Friends 95 

Dorothy  Crowder 

Lake  Evening 96 

Requiem 97 

Holland  DeWitte  Roberts 

A  Mid-Summer  Bonnet 98 

Mary  Robinson  Gibson 

###*#### 

Biographical  Notes 99 


INTRODUCTION 
BY  JOHN  T.  FREDERICK 

HE  Peoria  Book  of  Verse  brings  together 
into  a  single  volume  the  poetic  expres- 
sion of  a  community  from  the  beginning 
of  its  history  up  to  the  present  time. 
What   the   people   of   one    city   in   the 
Middle  West  of  America  have  thought 
and  felt  is  here  set  down,  in  the  most  adequate  terms 
which  have  been  vouchsafed  to  those  people. 

Rightly,  the  volume  is  varied.  It  includes  the 
poetic  expression  of  many  different  phases  of  human 
experience,  interpreted  from  widely  diverging  points 
of  view.  The  comic  will  be  found  side  by  side  with 
the  tragic.  The  validity  of  the  homely  expression 
of  humble,  everyday  experience  has  been  recognized, 
as  well  as  the  significance  of  the  lofty  and  the  elo- 
quent. Writers  among  the  most  distinguished  of 
their  time  in  America,  who  have  made  Peoria  their 
home,  appear  here  with  others  who  have  remained 
unknown  even  in  their  native  city  outside  a  narrow 
circle.  The  mature  men  and  women  of  Peoria  to- 
day contribute,  along  with  those  of  a  past  generation, 

9 


10  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

and  with  the  younger  writers  of  the  city  whose  highly 
promising  first  work  appears  here.  The  sum  total 
is  a  collection  which  Peorians  will  read  with  interest 
and  treasure  with  pride. 

The  thing  which  Peoria  is  doing  in  this  book, 
however,  is  significant  outside  the  city  itself.  In  past 
years  American  cities  have  sought  primarily  for  ma- 
terial expression  of  their  civic  consciousness.  Citi- 
zens have  been  content  with  numbers  of  population, 
with  tall  buildings,  with  manufactures  and  commerce 
as  symbols  and  expressions  of  their  enthusiasm  and 
their  faith.  But  at  the  present  time  it  is  evident  that 
American  cities  are  ceasing  to  be  content  with 
achievements  measurable  wholly  in  material  terms. 
The  civic  pride  of  American  municipalities  is  begin- 
ning to  find  expression  in  parks  and  playgrounds,  in 
schools  and  libraries,  in  orchestras  and  art  galleries : 
in  the  things  of  the  spirit.  The  present  volume  serves 
to  unify  one  city's  aspiration  and  achievement  in  one 
of  the  arts,  that  of  poetry.  By  its  publication  Peoria 
attains  a  position  of  leadership  among  American 
cities  in  the  vitally  important  movement  toward  com- 
munity consciousness  in  the  arts. 

Glennie,  Alcona  County,  Michigan. 
September  first,  1922. 


'  That  shining  pinnacle 


THE  NEW  BUILDING* 
JULIA  PROCTOR  WHITE 

Of  cold  steel  are  its  bones,  and  poured  stone  its 

marrow. 

Hard  and  unyielding  substances  provide  it  form ; 
Direct  and  four-square  it  rises  from  the  earth, 
Built  to   endure,   prepared   for  generations   yet   to 

come, 

A  stronghold  for  the  commerce  of  men's  minds. 
But  from  its  height  blossoms  a  stately  flower — 
A  lovely,  airy  thing,  half  dome,  half  tower. 
It  was  born  of  dreams, 
And  it  shall  beget  dreams, — 
It  has  a  magic  power. 

Who  knows  how  many  a  child,  seeing  it  rise 
On  the  bright  splendor  of  the  winter  skies, 
Shall  sing  with  it  a  triumphant  song 
And  find  the  home  to  which  his  thoughts  belong; 
Or  when  the  delicate  gray  mist  of  spring 
Spreads  a  pale  shadow  over  everything, 


*Peoria  Life  Insurance  Building. 
11 


12  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

How  many  a  watcher  on  the  neighboring  hill 

Shall  feel  his  heart  suddenly  thrill 

And  quicken  with  new  fervor 

To  see  that  shape  of  beauty  floating  free, 

Like  a  frail  palace  risen  from  a  shadowy  sea. 

Or  who  can  tell  what  toiler  in  the  dust  and  heat 

Shall  lift  his  eyes  to  meet 

That  shining  pinnacle; 

And  on  the  instant,  free  of  time  and  space, 

Feel  a  cool  mountain  wind  upon  his  face ! 

It  gives  forth  light 

By  day  as  by  night. 

It  is  a  prophecy  of  cities  new  and  fair, 

Of  better,  happier  times 

When  strength  shall  flower  in  beauty  everywhere. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

EASTER 

JULIA  PROCTOR  WHITE 

April  days  have  come  again; 
Days  of  sun  and  days  of  rain, 
Days  of  wind-swept  cloudy  weather, 
Tears  and  laughter  flung  together. 
Everything  must  bud  and  blossom, 
Everything  must  wake  and  sing; 
They  that  can  not — will  not — 
Have  no  part  in  spring. 

April,  touch  the  broken-hearted! 

Lift  them  from  their  heavy  sleep; 

With  tears  of  joy  and  solemn  laughter 

Make  them  laugh  and  make  them  weep. 

I  am  one  who  needs  you,  April, 

I  have  heard  your  call  to  rise. 

Let  me  feel  your  mighty  rapture, 

Let  me  ride  your  windy  skies. 

Flood  me  with  your  laughing  passion, 

Shake  me  with  your  ecstacy, 

Break  the  cramping  shard  that  binds  me, 

Strip  my  useless  grief  from  me. 

Take  me,  wake  me,  make  me  live ! 

Give  me  all  you  have  to  give. 

Let  my  stifled  heart  recapture 

All  the  glory  of  the  spring, 

Till  in  one  tremendous  moment 

I  shall  blossom,  I  shall  sing. 


14  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

BEFORE  MAN  WAS 
JULIA  PROCTOR  WHITE 

I  have  come  far,  and  I  am  tired. 

It  is  good  to  lie  close  to  the  earth, 

In  the  warm  sunshine. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  disturbed; 

But  something  calls  me. 

It  calls  me  when  I  am  running; 

When  I  sleep,  it  wakens  me. 

What  calls? 

When  I  look  for  it,  it  is  gone. 

Nothing  could  call  from  within  me ! 

Fruits  and  nuts,  earth,  even  the  quick  water 

I  can  touch; 

I  hold  them  in  my  hands. 

What  do  I  want  that  I  can  not  touch? 

What  calls  ? 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  15 

SANTA  CLAUS 
JOHN  J.  O'KEEFE 

He  is  the  spirit  of  the  mist  and  snow, 

Who  sails  through  the  star-lit  air, 

And  carries  the  song  of  the  mistletoe 

To  sweethearts  everywhere. 

He  is  the  breath  of  a  million  pines, 

That  glitter  in  candle-light; 

He  is  the  glow  of  the  lamp  that  shines 

For  the  poor  on  Christmas  night. 

He  is  the  magical  artisan 

Who  fashions  a  dream  from  truth, 

The  boy  that  lives  in  the  heart  of  a  man, 

The  soul  of  eternal  youth. 

He  is  the  laughter  that  leads  each  band 

Of  carolers  joyously; 

He  is  the  spirit  that  guides  your  hand 

When  you  give  sweet  charity. 

Oh,  you  fancy  him  a  fat  old  squire 

Lugging  a  bundle  of  toys, 

But  he  is  the  spirit  of  heart's  desire 

And  the  soul  of  a  thousand  joys. 

You'll  never  find  him  up  in  the  skies, 

Nor  up  the  chimney  flue, 

For  he  is  the  spirit  of  love  that  lies 

Deep  down  in  the  heart  of  you! 


16  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

SONG  OF  THE  STEAM  SHOVEL 

JOSEPHINE  BOWMAN  WETZLER 

I  tear  at  the  heart  of  the  sleeping  earth, 

I  wake  the  hills  with  my  noisy  mirth, 

Through  me  the  dreams  of  the  world  have  birth. 

I  throb  with  a  power  beyond  the  ken 

Of  the  pigmy  strength  of  your  pigmy  men, 

Sweating  in  factory,  office,  and  pen. 

Grunting  and  swinging,  I  lay  my  path ; 

The  soft  earth  sinks  'neath  the  weight  of  my  wrath; 

The  far  hills  shake  to  the  rock  of  my  laugh. 

Your  streams  I  change  to  the  course  you  please ; 
I  gut  your  mountains ;  I  join  your  seas ; 
The  smoke  of  my  breath  is  on  every  breeze. 

High  through  the  hiss  of  my  mighty  steams, 
Clear  through  the  discordant  grunts  and  screams, 
Harmony  swells,  the  music  of  dreams. 

Music  of  boilers,  tested  and  strong, 
Iron  arms  riveted,  steady  and  long, 
Steaming  and  dreaming,  I  sing  my  song; 
Hear  me,  ye  idlers,  hark  to  my  song ! 

I  sing  of  the  men  who  cut  your  trails, 
Who  span  your  rivers  and  lay  your  rails, 
The  man  who  tries  and  the  man  who  fails. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  17 

I  sing  of  the  glory  of  work  well  done^ 
A  night's  rest  earned  at  the  set  of  sun, 
A  brave  thing  dared  and  a  good  fight  won. 

So  I  sing  my  song  to  the  men  who  build, 
Till  the  last  ditch  is  dug  and  the  last  cut  filled, 
Till  my  fires  are  dead  and  my  voice  is  stilled, 

Till  they  scrap  me  for  junk  and  I'm  thrown  away; 

But  I've  sung  my  song  and  I've  had  my  day, 

And  the  work  of  my  dreams  and  my  toil  will  stay! 


18  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

THE  TWO  GODS 
JOSEPHINE  BOWMAN  WETZLER 

Sometimes  I  pray  to  a  little  God 

Who  makes  His  home  within 
The  narrow  walls  of  my  own  heart, 

So  filled  with  selfish  sin. 

And  to  this  God  I  send  such  prayers 

As,  "Help  my  man  get  work," 
And  "Help  us  send  the  boys  through  school,' 

"Let  none  our  duty  shirk," 

"Help  Johnnie  get  his  tonsils  out, 

And,  God,  sir,  I'd  be  glad 
If  you  would  bless  the  garden  truck 

Put  in  this  spring  by  Dad." 

But  to  the  other  God,  my  prayers 

Must  stronger  be  and  higher; 
He  could  not  hear  the  whispered  words 

Of  selfish  heart's  desire. 

This  other  God  is  not  just  mine; 

He  rules  a  larger  sphere, 
And  to  the  voices  of  all  worlds 

He  bends  a  list'ning  ear. 

"Oh,  God  of  law  and  love,"  I  pray, 

Infinite  of  time  and  space, 
Hide  not  from  this,  Thy  foolish  world, 

The  glory  of  Thy  face. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  19 

"Send  faith  as  Thou  doth  send  the  rain, 

To  ease  a  fevered  earth, 
That  man  may  bear  the  wracking  pain 

Of  spiritual  rebirth." 


Sometimes  I  wonder  if  my  prayers — 
The  mighty  and  the  small, 

Don't  reach  the  self-same  ear  at  last 
And  one  God  hears  them  all. 


20  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

FIVE  SONNETS 
JOHN  LANCASTER  SPALDING 

I 

Free  men  alone  are  they  who  do  the  right, 
For  liberty  obedience  is  to  law; 
And  they  who  from  this  service  sweet  withdraw 
Are  made  the  slaves  of  a  stern  tyrant's  might. 

To  serve  within  our  place  and  in  God's  sight, 
To  keep  our  lives  unstained  and  without  flaw, 
To  walk  in  humbleness  and  holy  awe 
Is  to  be  clothed  with  freedom  as  with  light. 

The  truth,  the  blessed  Saviour  said,  makes  free, 
And  they  who  do  the  right,  the  truth  shall  know, 
And  only  they  are  sons  of  liberty. 
No  laws  of  men  the  heavenly  gift  bestow; 
The  soul  is  freedom's  fort  by  God's  decree, 
Which  naught  but  our  own  deeds  can  overthrow. 

From  The  Poets  Praise 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS.   1887 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  21 

II 

As  one  who  looks  on  boundless  waste  of  snow, 
When  all  the  world  is  white,  and  through  the  sky 
The  drifting  flakes  in  blinding  currents  fly, 
Up-caught  by  winds  that  eddy  to  and  fro, 

And  piled  in  drifts  that  ever  higher  grow, 
Until  all  things  far  as  can  reach  the  eye 
In  one  great  winding-sheet  deep  buried  lie, 
Sees  with  glad  heart,  afar  his  hearth  fire  glow, 

Conscious  of  the  warm  love  that  nestles  there; 

So  human  souls,  looking  on  wintry  space, 

And  chilled  by  fickle  blasts  of  time,  turn  where, 

Through  all  the  dark  and  doubt  and  woe,  God's  face 

Appears  eternal,  patient,  and  all  fair, 

Though  in  the  gloom,  His  form  they  dimly  trace. 

From  God  and  the  Soul 
THE  GRAFTON  PRESS 


22  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

III 

Oh,  woman,  shut  within  the  narrow  bound 
Of  household  duties  and  of  petty  cares, 
The  slave  of  little  thoughts  and  small  affairs, 
Who  in  thy  treadmill  walkest  daily  round, 

To  thee  the  poet  comes  with  blessing  crowned, 
And  builds  for  thy  sore  feet  the  golden  stairs 
Which  upward  lead  away  from  all  despairs 
To  the  pure  heaven  where  God  and  love  are  found. 

Oh,  love  him  well;   like  thee  he  sorrow  knows 
And  wrongs,  to  gentle  hearts  most  hard  to  bear; 
Like  thee  he  yearns  for  worlds  where  love  o'erflows 
And  works  for  men  who  reck  not  of  his  care; 
Like  thee,  upborne  by  love,  he  onward  goes, 
Singing  his  tender  thought  to  some  sweet  air. 

From  The  Poet's  Praise 


23 


It  may  be  none  will  read  the  rhymes  I  write; 

Much  better  verse  has  had  no  better  fate, 

And  truest  poetry  has  oft  to  wait 
The  poet's  death  ere  it  may  claim  its  right. 

I  need  not  gold  and  find  enough  delight 
In  quiet  walks  where  sings  a  muse  sedate; 
My  task  at  least  is  harmless,  if  not  great; 

I  am  content  without  a  proselyte. 

Yet  in  these  songs  there  may  be  found  a  note 
Which  to  some  dolorous  heart  will  solace  bring, 

A  tone  with  which  high  hope  will  blend  and  float, 
A  line  to  which  some  memory  will  cling. 

And  therefore  to  their  fate  I  them  devote, 

Like  seed  sown  in  the  shifting  winds  of  spring. 

From  God  and  the  Soul 


24  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

V 

When  shall  the  poet  come,  whose  thrilling  song 
Shall  sound  like  voice  of  God  on  earth  again, 
And  lift  all  hearts  from  selfish  joy  and  pain 
To  that  pure  region  where  all  souls  belong; 

To  faith  and  hope  and  love,  with  purpose  strong 
To  do  the  right,  nor  seek  a  richer  gain; 
To  serve,  be  helpful,  just,  and  so  to  reign, 
Since  they  are  more  than  kings  who  war  on  wrong? 

The  world  is  listening  now  if  it  may  hear 
That  science,  love,  religion,  all  agree, 
And  with  one  voice  proclaim  that  God  is  near; 
That  what  true  men  have  hoped  for  yet  shall  be, 
That  ways  we  walk  in  shall  grow  broad  and  clear, 
Until  the  struggle  cease  and  all  are  free. 

From  The  Poefs  Praise 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  25 

THE  ARMY  OF  THE  GRASS 

ELIZABETH  WORTHINGTON  DENISON 

The  slender  lances  pierce  the  mould 
With  not  a  hint  of  sound; 
The  eager  scouts  run  here  and  there 
On  royal  business  bound. 

Then,  in  a  night,  the  hosts  appear, 
With  emerald  banners  furled, 
And  silently  proclaim  their  right 
To  occupy  the  world. 


26  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

APPLE  TREES  IN  CALIFORNIA 
ELIZABETH  WORTHINGTON  DENISON 

They  stand  amid  the  blossoming  orange  trees, 
With  deep  Italian  skies  and  balmy  air, 
With  light  and  warmth  and  color  everywhere, 
And  opulent  soil  enriched  through  centuries. 

All  nature  woos  and  smiles  and  fain  wound  bless. 
Shall  not  the  sweetness  of  her  magic  stir 
Their  calmer,  northern  blood  to  worship  her, 
Requiting  with  swift  bloom  her  tenderness? 

Nay,  look  upon  their  leafless,  silent  boughs 
Clad  in  a  patient  loyalty  sublime. 
No  passionate  call  their  tranquil  blood  can  rouse; 
'Tis  winter  yet  in  their  far  distant  clime. 
Give  me  the  gift  that  their  dumb  life  endows. 
Give  me  the  faith  to  trust  my  own  springtime. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  27 

ACROSS  THE  RIVER,  PEORIA 

ELIZABETH  WORTHINGTON  DENISON 

A  dull  and  grimy  street 
Where  heavy  foot-falls  beat 

Day  after  weary  day 

With  naught  of  glad  or  gay, 
Save  in  the  blue  above, 
To  show  that  life  is  Love, 

A  monotone  unblest, 

A  problem  still  unguessed. 

But  as  I  plod  along, 

One  with  the  toiling  throng, 

I  cross  a  thoroughfare 

And  see  before  me  there 
Beyond  the  far  street  line* 
A  vision  fair  and  fine 

Of  river,  wood,  and  sky, 

The  heart  to  satisfy. 

So,  as  the  spirit  fares 

Through  sordid  woes  and  cares, 

Its  birthright  all  unknown, 

Its  harvest  yet  unsown, 
A  vision  fine  and  fair 
As  of  diviner  air, 

Gleams  on  the  inner  sight 

Out  of  the  realm  of  light. 


*It  is  characteristic  of  the  down-town  district  of  Peoria  that 
many  of  the  streets  seem  to  end  in  the  broad  river,  beyond  which 
are  the  wooded  bluffs  of  Tazewell  County. 


28  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

MY  FIRST  CIGAR 
ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 

'Twas  just  behind  the  woodshed, 

One  glorious  summer  day, 
Far  o'er  the  hills  the  sinking  sun 

Pursued  his  westward  way; 
And  in  my  safe  seclusion 

Removed  from  all  the  jar 
And  din  of  earth's  confusion, 

I  smoked  my  first  cigar. 

It  was  my  first  cigar! 
It  was  the  worst  cigar! 
Raw,  green,  and  dank,  hide-bound  and  rank, 
It  was  my  first  cigar! 

Ah,  bright  the  boyish  fancies 

Wrapped  in  the  smoke-wreaths  blue; 
My  eyes  grew  dim,  my  head  was  light, 

The  woodshed  round  me  flew ! 
Dark  night  closed  in  around  me — 

Black  night  without  a  star — 
Grim  death  methought  had  found  me 

And  spoiled  my  first  cigar. 

It  was  my  first  cigar! 
A  six-for-five  cigar! 
No  viler  torch  the  air  could  scorch — 
It  was  my  first  cigar! 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  29 

All  pallid  was  my  beaded  brow, 

The  reeling  night  was  late; 
My  startled  mother  cried  in  fear, 

"My  child,  what  have  you  ate?" 
I  heard  my  father's  smothered  laugh, 

It  seemed  so  strange  and  far; 
I  knew  he  knew  I  knew  he  knew 

I'd  smoked  my  first  cigar! 

It  was  my  first  cigar! 
A  give-away  cigar! 
I  could  not  die — I  knew  not  why — 
It  was  my  first  cigar! 

Since  then  I've  stood  in  reckless  ways, 

I've  dared  what  men  can  dare, 
I've  mocked  at  danger,  walked  with  death, 

I've  laughed  at  pain  and  care; 

I  do  not  dread  what  may  befall 

'Neath  my  malignant  star, 
No  frowning  fate  again  can  make 

Me  smoke  my  first  cigar. 

I've  smoked  my  first  cigar! 
My  first  and  worst  cigar! 
Fate  has  no  terrors  for  the  man 
Who's  smoked  his  first  cigar! 

From  Smiles  Yoked  with  Sighs 
Copyright,   1900.     Used  by  special 
permission  of  the  publishers, 
THE   BOBBS-MERRILL   COMPANY. 


30  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

BUT! 

ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 
(Dedicated  to  Capricornicus,  the  great  butter!) 

THE  MUSICIAN 
Her  white  hands  over  the  white  keys  strayed, 

But  her  soul  was  above  the  stars; 
And  the  far-off  look  in  her  eyes  betrayed 

The  fire  in  the  wayward  bars. 
Then  her  spirit  found  birth  in  a  burst  of  song, 

For  Music  held  her  hands, 
And  the  full-born  harmony  flowed  along 

Like  the  cadence  of  angel  bands! 
And  the  listening  multitudes  thronged  to  hear, 

And,  weeping,  they  went  away, 
A-fire  and  a-tremble,  with  love  and  fear 

To  dream,  and  to  do,  and  to  pray. 
But!   The  lodgers  upstairs  and  across  the  street 

Prayed  heaven  that  the  howl  might  cease; 
And  they  rent  their  garments  and  tore  their  hair, 

And  yelled,  "POLICE!  POLICE!" 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  31 

THE  ARTIST 
Long,  with  head  bowed  down, 

He  gazed  at  the  embers'  glow 
Till  the  midnight  paused  o'er  the  slumbering  town, 

And  the  waning  moon  hung  low. 
Then  his  dark  eyes  flashed  with  a  genius  rare; 

To  the  easel  he  sprang  with  a  bound. 
And  he  wrought  by  the  glimmering  firelight  there 

While  the  shadows  gathered  around. 
And  all  night  long, 

Till  the  pale,  pale  dawn 
Looked  in  at  his  casement  dim, 

He  painted  "The  Song  of  the  Dying  Swan," 
And  the  song  she  sang  to  him, 

And  the  wondering  throngs  of  awe-struck  men, 
Knelt  down  to  the  dream  he  had  wrought; 

For  he  painted  the  Soul  of  the  Where  and  the  When 
The  Never,  the  Which,  and  the  Ought! 

But!   When  it  was  dry,  he  took  it  down 

And  bore  it  far  from  thence; 
And  sold  it  for  gold  in  a  distant  town, 

For  two  dollars  and  fifteen  cents. 


32  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

THE  POET 
He  could  not  sleep, 

For  the  stars  were  calling, 
The  spaces  of  blue  burned  white  for  him; 

The  echoes  of  night  around  him  falling 
Came  up  through  the  ether  clear  and  dim. 

It  were  profane  to  light  a  taper! 
Low  on  the  breast  of  the  night  he  leaned! 

He  found  in  the  dark  some  ink  and  paper, 
And  then,  with  his  eyes  from  the  starlight  screened, 

He  wrote  with  a  pen  that  went  swiftly  flying, 
Over  the  pages  that  flew  away, 

The  songs  of  Light  that  the  night  was  singing — 
The  joyous  songs  of  the  coming  day, 

Words  that  should  be  for  aye  and  forever, 
Thoughts  that  should  stand  while  time  should  last — 

Dreams  of  tomorrow,  yesterday,  never, 
Words  which  would  sun  and  the  moon  outlast. 

But!  He  carted  them  down  next  day  to  the  sanctum, 
"Read,  then,"  he  cried,  "what  the  Muse  declares!" 

Straight  to  the  door  the  editor  yanked  'em 
And  fired  him  down  two  flights  of  stairs. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  33 

THE   BIRTHPLACE   OF   BURNS* 
ROBERT  G.  INGERSOLL 

Though  Scotland  boasts  a  thousand  names, 

Of  patriot,  king,  and  peer, 
The  noblest,  grandest  of  them  all 

Was  loved  and  cradled  here. 
Here  lived  the  gentle  peasant-prince, 

The  loving  Cotter-King, 
Compared  with  whom  the  grandest  lord 

Is  but  a  titled  thing. 

'Tis  but  a  cot  roofed  in  with  straw, 

A  hovel  made  of  clay, — 
One  door  shuts  out  the  snow  and  storm — 

One  window  greets  the  day. 
And  yet  I  stand  within  this  room 

And  hold  all  thrones  in  scorn, 
For  here,  beneath  this  lowly  thatch 

Love's  sweetest  bard  was  born. 

Within  this  hallowed  hut  I  feel 

Like  one  who  clasps  a  shrine, 
When  the  glad  lips  at  last  have  touched 

The  something  deemed  divine. 
And  here  the  world,  through  all  the  years, 

As  long  as  day  returns, 
The  tribute  of  its  love  and  tears 

Will  pay  to  Robert  Burns. 

Aug.  19,  1878. 


*From  the  author's  manuscript  copy  of  this  poem  which  has 
hung  for  many  years  in  the  librarian's  office  in  the  Peoria  Public 
Library. 


34  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ON  THE  HEIGHTS* 

JULIA  HARRIETTS  JOHNSTON 

The  beautiful  bending  river, 

The  billows  of  changing  green, 
The  light  where  the  sunbeams  quiver, 

The  shadows  that  lie  between 
Are  seen  from  the  heights  above  them, 

Where  lieth  a  charmed  repose, 
And  one  can  but  look  and  love  them 

From  dawn  till  the  daytime's  close. 

The  fields  in  the  sunlight  golden, 

Respond  to  the  smiling  sky; 
The  tale  is  a  story  olden: 

The  harvester's  joy  is  nigh. 
The  gold  of  the  sheaf  and  stubble 

Lies  brilliant  against  the  green; 
The  stress  of  the  toil  and  trouble 

Is  gone  from  the  happy  scene. 

The  heights  overlook  the  beauty; 

Refreshment  and  rest  are  here; 
But  some  one  toiled  at  his  duty, 

And  yonder  the  fruits  appear. 
The  peace  of  the  heights  will  rest  thee 

With  a  look  beyond  and  below; 
But  the  call  of  the  field  will  test  thee, 

And  ultimate  fruit  will  show. 


•Prospect  Heights,  Peoria. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  35 

So  hark,  for  a  season's  quiet, 

To  the  syllables,  soft  and  sweet, 
Where  the  whispering  breezes  riot, 

And  the  birds  for  their  chorus  meet. 
In  the  hush  of  the  heights  unbroken, 

Recover  thy  strength,  and  then, 
When  the  ringing  word  is  spoken, 

Hie  down  to  the  fields  again. 

From  Bright  Threads 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  Co.  1897 


36  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

A  WINTER  PARABLE* 
JULIA  HARRIETTS  JOHNSTON 

How  still  it  is!  Did  ever  shout 
Of  summer  friends  ring  blithely  out? 
The  echoes  of  the  long  ago 
Are  muffled  in  the  fallen  snow; 
The  hills,  through  many  a  day  and  night 
Have  kept  their  fleecy  garments  white; 
The  gorge  between  is  heaped  and  piled 
With  drifts  fantastic,  wind-beguiled. 
The  narrow  footway,  lost  or  strayed, 
Reveals  one  track  where  he  essayed — 
Our  venturous  guide — but  yesterday 
To  pass  along  the  untrodden  way. 
And  yet  the  pathway,  as  of  old, 
Leads  on  through  wonders  manifold, 
Until  the  rocky  cave  we  win, 
And  walls  familiar  shut  us  in. 

But  never  in  the  bloom  of  May, 

Nor  ever  in  midsummer  day, 

Amid  the  wealth  of  living  green, 

Was  sight  so  fair  by  mortal  seen. 

O  miracle  of  ice  and  frost, 

This  columned  splendor,  light-embossed! 

All  common  words  of  praise  are  lost! 

The  drops  that  in  the  summer  fall 

And  lose  themselves  in  channels  small 

Have  felt  the  Frost-King's  icy  spell 


*Refers  to  Rocky  Glen,  near  Peoria,  in  winter. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  37 

And  turned  to  jewels  as  they  fell. 
Ah,  plashing  drops,  to  purpose  spilt, 
What  crystal  marvels  ye  have  built: 
Two  pillars,  of  such  measurement 
We  may  not  guess  their  full  extent, 
With  flutings  fine  and  traceries  rare 
And  frostings  all  beyond  compare. 

But  hark  to  the  murmur  of  water! 
That  musical  murmur  we  know. 

Where  is  it?    Where  is  it? 

There  is  it?    There  is  it? 
Yes;  it  is  tinkling  and  rippling  and  sprinkling, 

Making  soft  laughter  below, 

Melodious  laughter  below. 
The  spring  from  above  never  ceases  to  flow; 

A  way  it  will  find, 

Through  the  shaft  or  behind, 

Rippling  in  laughter  below, 
And  slipping  past  the  crystal  bolts, 

Right  onward  doth  it  go, 

Down  deep  beneath  the  snow. 
Talk  not  of  silence  while  brooklets  are  singing, 

All  softly,  down  under  the  snow. 
Grieve  not  because  the  sight  and  tone, 
By  man  unheard,  unseen,  unknown, 
Are  beautiful  to  God  alone. 

But  now  another  sweet  surprise 
Lies  hidden  under  snowy  guise. 


38  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

The  bank  where  ferns  are  wont  to  grow 
Is  swept  of  drifted  depths  of  snow, 
And  lo !    some  green  things  growing  there 
A  summer  look  of  beauty  wear. 
The  winter  parable  is  old, 
And  yet  may  often  be  retold: 
Some  pleasant  growths  resist  the  cold, 
And  often  that  which  seems  to  chill, 
Protects  and  serves  and  blesses  still. 
Yet  mark — the  roots  must  lie  below. 
Go  where  the  ferns  are  wont  to  grow, 
If  you  would  find  them  'neath  the  snow. 

But  winter  twilight  comes  apace; 
And  evening  shadows  interlace 
The  leafless  branches,  lifted  high 
Like  pleading  arms  against  the  sky. 
Our  zigzag  track  we  soon  retrace, 
Albeit  with  uncertain  grace. 
The  entrance  to  the  gorge  we  reach, 
And  homeward  go  too  glad  for  speech; 
While  silent  stars  behold  again 
The  marble  beauty  of  the  glen, 
And  through  the  silence  and  the  snow 
The  living  waters  softly  flow. 

From  Bright  Threads 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  Co.  1897 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  39 

HOMESICK 

ANN  CALLENDER  BURDICK 

My  heart  and  brain  are  city-tired  to-night: 
The  endless  rush  and  roar,  the  life  that  seems 

To  be  not  life,  but,  to  a  mortal  spent, 
Discordant  echoes  of  a  restless  dream! 

Oh,  shadows  of  the  past  that  walk  with  me, 
To-night  I  have  turned  coward  for  your  sake, 

Praying  that  when  the  morning's  sun  shall  rise, 
The  dream  will  pass,  and  I  shall  be  awake. 

Again  to  know  the  silence  of  the  hills, 
The  mighty,  wordless  anthem  of  the  sea, 

The  song  of  birds,  the  fragrance  of  the  earth, — 
And  all  that  life  was  really  meant  to  be. 

From   Thoughts  in   Verse 


40  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

HYMN 

WILLIAM  HAWLEY  SMITH 

Great  God,  how  infinite  thou  art, 
How  infinite  are  we; 

We  are  of  thee  a  living  part, 
Thy  children — like  to  thee. 

Eternal  progress  marks  the  way 
Thy  Spirit  ever  moves; 

No  dead  form  or  finality 
Thy  living  will  approves. 

Forever  forward  is  the  law 
Of  life  in  God  and  man; 

There  is  no  limit,  bound,  or  flaw 
In  life's  unmeasured  plan. 

Great  God,  how  infinite  thou  art, 
How  infinite  are  we; 

Help  us  each  day  to  do  our  part 
To  make  ourselves  like  thee. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  41 

A  CHILD'S  PRAYER 
WILLIAM  HAWLEY  SMITH 

When  it  gets  dark,  the  birds  and  flowers, 
Shut  up  their  eyes  and  say  goodnight; 

And  God,  Who  loves  them,  counts  the  hours 
And  keeps  them  safe  till  it  gets  light! 

Dear  Father!     Count  the  hours  to-night, 
When  I'm  asleep  and  cannot  see; 

And,  in  the  morning,  may  the  light 

Shine  for  the  birds,  the  flowers,  and  me ! 


42  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ROBERT  BURNS 
SAMUEL  PATTERSON  PROWSE 

Auld  Scotia  hails  him  wi'  acclaim 
The  king  o'er  ilka  rhymer. 
'Mang  a'  the  bards  o'  daithless  fame 
What  ither  sings  diviner? 

He  toils,  yet  trills;   frae  couthie  breast 
The  cantie  notes  are  springing, 
Like  lav'  rocks  rising  in  the  east 
That  soaring,  still  keeps  singing. 

Wi'  fascinating  power  he  sings 
Life's  common  joys  and  sorrows, 
And  frae  earth's  laigh  and  limpit  things 
Apt  illustration  borrows. 

We  aften  think  o'  Duncan  Gray, 
O'   shaws  whar  birds  are  singing, 
O'  simmer  blink  on  flow'ry  brae 
Whar  heather  bells  are  ringing; 

O'  roguish  glint  in  Peggy's  ee, 
O'  lad  what  lo'ed  the  lasses, 
O'  rigs  o'  barley  on  the  lee, 
And  sunrise  owre  the  passes. 

We  see  John  Anderson  again, 
And  straik  Meg's  gowden  tresses; 
His  Highland  Mary's  smile  we  ken, 
We  think  o'  Jean's  caresses. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  43 

We  wanner  by  the  banks  o'  Cree 
Wi'  maid  o'  Ecclefechan, 
And  when  we  lilt,  "They  shall  be  free," 
Our  Scottisch  hearts  are  pechin'. 

His  verses  live  a'  unimpaired 
By  change  o'  time  or  fashion; 
They  speak  the  tongue  by  a'  men  shared, 
Inspired  by  human  passion. 

The  secret  o'  his  power  we  ken — 
The  same  through  a'  the  ages — 
'Tis  only  he  who  loves  a'  men 
That  love  o'  men  engages. 


44  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ONLY  PARTED 

SAMUEL  PATTERSON  PROWSE 

Earth  has  her  mysteries 
With  which  eternal  shadows  ever  blend, 
And  life  is  mantled  in  a  solemn  guise 
That  mortals  cannot  rend. 

Could  we  have  vision  clear 
As  one  of  old,  touched  by  the  prophet's  hand, 
How  closely  would  this  world  of  ours  appear 
Linked  to  the  Spirit  Land! 

Who  has  not  felt  the  rush 
Of  an  unseen  and  gently  soothing  power 
That  steals  o'er  heavy  hearts  with  solemn  hush 
In  sorrow's  trying  hour? 

There  come  at  such  a  time 
Glad  words  that  sinless  angels  fain  would  hear, 
And  oft  they  bring  a  longing  for  that  clime 
Where  love  has  cast  out  fear. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  45 

SELFISHNESS 
GEORGE  HELGESEN  FITCH 

I  did  a  heartless  thing  to-day; 

The  memory  rankless  still. 
'Twas  Charlie  Jones  who  barred  my  way 

And  asked  with  nervous  thrill 
If  I  would  help  a  fellow-man 

By  poverty  set  wild 
And  let  him  join  the  circus  clan 

By  lending  him  a  child. 

I  am  inclined  to  charity. 

Jones  nearly  got  his  prize, 
And  then  each  child  I  seemed  to  see 

Gazing  with  starry  eyes 
At  lions,  elephants,  and  bears, 

A  shouting  wondering  elf — 
"No  sir,"  I  growled,  "I'll  not  go  shares. 

I'll  take  them  all  myself." 


46  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

EXPERIENCE 

WILLIAM  JAMES  LEACH 

To  do  my  work  and  be  myself, 

Serenely  day  by  day; 
To  hold  my  peace  until  I  know 

The  word  I  ought  to  say; 

To  learn  to  give  of  what  I  have 
For  those  who  may  have  need; 

To  lift  my  life  until  it  find 
Expression  in  a  deed; 

To  live  content,  yet  eagerly 
Press  on  to  better  things; 

To  hold,  through  all  my  days,  the  joy 
With  which  glad  childhood  rings; 

To  stand  alone  when  others  may 
Not  choose  to  stand  with  me; 

To  give  to  every  fellow-man 
This  same  large  liberty; 

To  see  my  cherished  plans  go  wrong 
And  yet  not  lose  my  hope; 

To  walk  sometimes  in  darkness 
But  never  have  to  grope; 

To  feel  my  faith  in  God  and  man 
Grow  brighter  day  by  day; 

To  learn  to  live  and  love  and  serve; 
Most  earnestly  I  pray. 

From  Poems  and  War  Letters 
THE  MANUAL  ARTS  PRESS,  1922 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  47 

LIVING  LIGHTLY 

WILLIAM  JAMES  LEACH 

My  Father,  may  my  hold  on  life 

Be  strong  and  sure  and  light. 
When  I  should  stand,  then  may  I  have 

The  grace  and  grit  to  fight. 
But  when  I  lose,  may  I  have  sense 

To  get  me  straight  away, 
Thankful  that  I  may  have  a  chance 

To  fight  another  day. 
In  such  a  changing  world  may  I 

Not  bind  myself  too  fast, 
Even  to  what  most  precious  seems, 

For  things  here  do  not  last. 

My  friends  may  I  hold  dear,  and  yet 

Let  me  not  lean  on  them. 
Who  knows  the  hour  I  may  reach  out 

In  vain  to  touch  the  hem 
Of  that  one's  garment  who  stood  near 

So  long,  to  be  my  strength? 
And  I  shall  stand  at  last  alone. 

Each  life  has  its  own  length. 

May  I,  if  this  whole  day  be  mine, 

Work  hard  till  it  is  past;     -•• 
Be  ready  to  let  go  and  smile, 

If  this  should  be  my  last. 

From  Poems  and  War  Letters 
THE  MANUAL  ARTS  PRESS,  1922 


48  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

A  TRIAD 
ELLEN  GALUSHA  SMITH 

Yesterday:     Coffin  of  our  hopes  and  cradle  of  our 

fears, 
A  vale  of  sad  regrets  for  all  the  good  we  might 

have  done, 
A  time  to  look  upon  with  stinted  smiles  and  plenteous 

tears, 

A  land  of  shadows,  save  where  lit  by  Love's  re- 
flected sun. 

And  yet,  we  linger  with  a  fond  regret  along  the  way 
That  leads  us  on,  and  sigh  to  leave  the  tomb  of 
Yesterday. 

To-day :  A  living  spark  that  gleams  between  two  end- 
less nights, 
A  grain  of  sand  that  slips  between  what  was  and 

is  to  be, 
A  breath,  full  freighted  with  the  odors  of  our  sweet 

delights, 

Or  heavy  laden  with  the  dews  that  rise  from  Sor- 
row's sea, 

A  battle  ground,  where  good  and  ill  wage  never  end- 
ing strife. 

Oh,  great  To-day !  thou  art,  we  are — we  know  no 
more  of  life. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  49 

To-morrow:    Sweet  deluder  of  our  ever  troubled 

race; 

To-morrow  I  shall  be  healthier,  wealthier,  wiser; 
So,   to-day's  poverty  and  pain  I  bear  with  better 

grace. 
Oh,  a  thousand  times  as  mean  as  the  most  sordid 

miser 
Is  the  grim  cynic  who  would  cheat  us,  in  our  present 

sorrow, 

Of  the  bright  hues  of  Hope,  whose  bow  of  promise 
spans  To-morrow! 


50  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

HOME 
EUGENE  DE'AGUERO  BROWN 

Stands  at  the  end  of  a  quiet  street, 
Right  where  the  town  and  the  country  meet,- 
Our  little  house,  with  its  nice  brown  face, 
Lending  a  welcoming  air  and  grace. 
Strong  in  its  trimming  of  milky  white, 
Breaking  the  sky-line  by  day  or  night, 
Pleasantly  smiling,  it  seems  to  say: 
"Here  is  a  house  that  has  come  to  stay." 
Just  'round  the  corner  the  countryside 
Spreads  out  its  arms  till  they're  open  wide, 
Bidding  you  walk  in  the  clear,  fresh  air 
Out  to  the  country  of  Don' t-Know- Where, 
Out  to  the  quiet  of  timbered  dales, 
Filled  full  of  legends  and  fairly  tales. 
Home!    And  the  echo  rings  loud  and  clear. 
Oh,  when  I'm  tired,  just  leave  me  here. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  51 

AT  BEDTIME 

EUGENE  DE'AGUERO  BROWN 

At  bedtime,  when  the  world  is  still 
And  good-nights  all  around  are  said, 
Our  children  straggle  up  the  hill 
That  leads  them  to  their  fluffy  bed. 

And  sometimes  I  just  straggle  too, 
And  run  a  race  to  get  undressed, 
Or  listen  while  they  all  go  through 
The  little  prayers  they  love  the  best. 

And  sometimes  when  the  light's  turned  out, 
I'll  tickle  them  with  funny  rhymes, 
Or  funny  things  I've  heard  about, 
Or  little  jokes,  and  then  sometimes 

I  get  in  bed  with  them  and  play. 

It  makes  them  laugh,  and  kick,  and  squeal, 

And,  thinking  back  along  the  way, 

I  know  exactly  how  they  feel. 

And  by  and  by  their  eyes,  seems  like, 
Get  heavy.     Now  their  Mother's  there, 
And  kisses  ev'ry  little  tyke, 
And  tucks  them  in  with  tender  care. 

And  then  we  stand  there,  spell-bound,  and 
At  last  we  gently  slip  away, 
As  eyelids,  set  with  slumber  sand, 
Have  gone  to  rest  until  the  day. 


52  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

JAZZ 

ARTHUR  GALUSHA  SMITH 

In  the  marble  lobby  of  the  great  hotel  they  stood, 

Laughing,  jesting, 

Waiting  for  the  bronze  doors  to  open 

To  slide  aside  for  them 

That   they   might   whisk    aloft   to    sound-drenched 

floors  above, 
And  pay  obeisance  with  their  splendid,  lithe,  young 

bodies 
To  the  modern  god 

Of  Jazz! 

Youth  was  theirs,  and  beauty  of  a  sort, 

For  they  had  so  bestowed  upon  themselves 

The  fullest  functionings  of  razor,  tweezers,  searing 

needle,  lotion,  powder,  cream,  and  tint, 
That  art  had  fairly  well  supplied 
What  modern  beauty's  standard  needs, 
In  any  certain  case, 
Deem  fit  and  fashionable! 

Wealth  was  surely  theirs, 

For  suits,  silks,  furs,  feathers,  jewels,  perfumes, 

All  called  out  that  money  was  their  slave. 

Wit,  too,  was  theirs, 
For  one  said  to  his  friends — 

The  while  his  polished  shoe  caressed  the  slavered, 
brazen  urn 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  53 

That  stood  there  on  its  littered  rubber  mat — 
"The  drinking  glasses  may  be  short  up  there. 
"Had  we  not  better  take  this  with  us  as  we  go?" 

Oh,  vanished  sturdy  prairie  pioneers ! 
The  wealth  that  gushed  out  from  your  toiling  hands, 
The  dear-bought  wisdom  of  your  rugged  minds 
Have  fruited  now  in  children's  children — 
Sickening  jesters — 

Worshipers  of  Jazz ! 

America !    America ! 

Like  Rome  of  old  we  die 

If  on  our  topmost  branches  there 

We  burgeon  largely 

Into  painted,  sterile  fruits 

Like  these! 

Of  Jazz! 


54  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ACHIEVEMENT— INSTINCT 

ARTHUR  GALUSHA  SMITH 

Along  the  highway  of  the  states, 
From  east  to  west 
I  saw  white  painted,  huge, 
On  flattish  roofs  of  barns, 
Stark  numerals  faced  upward 
Toward  the  sky. 

I  thrilled! 

These  were  the  sign  posts, 
Reading  from  above, 
To  guide  the  airmen 
In  their  prairie  flight. 

The  night  came  down 

With  fog  and  rain. 

Gone  was  every  huge  and  staring  guide. 

Yet  on  and  on  through  all  that  night 

Wild  geese  clove  the  inky  black, 

And  with  their  age-old  cries 

(That  prickle  through  man's  blood) 

Called  each  to  each: 

"All's  well !    We  travel  south 

To  our  appointed  place." 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  55 

With  eyes  fast  closed 

I  looked  far  back 

Down  aeons,  vague  with  vanished  years, 

And  there  an  ape-man,  naked 

Crouched  within  a  tropic  cave, 

Dull  reason  dimly  showing 

Upon  his  fearful  face. 

But  even  then,  in  that  remote  abyss  of  time 
That  hairy  savage  heard  the  wild  geese  call 
Just  as  they  call  today. 


56  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

PERSPECTIVE 
ARTHUR  GALUSHA  SMITH 

The  near  thing 
That's  the  dear  thing 
Is  so  hard  for  us  to  see. 

While  the  far  thing, 
Like  some  star  thing, 
Lures  with  its  mystery. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  57 

THANKSGIVING 

FLORENCE  JEFFERS  SHEARER 

That  Thou  to  me  hast  granted  life, 
And  placed  me  here,  right  here,  and  now, 
To  toil  and  strive,  to  sing  and  dream — 
A  unit  needed  in  Thy  scheme — 
I  give  Thee  thanks. 

That  I  may  clasp  the  hand  and  gaze 
Into  the  eyes  of  trusted  friend, 
And  in  their  mirrored  depths  I  see 
A  tender  love  and  loyalty, 
I  give  Thee  thanks. 

That  in  the  petals  of  the  rose, 
And  in  the  song  of  trilling  bird, 
And  in  the  forest  creatures  play, 
I  see  Thy  joyous  radiancy, 
I  give  Thee  thanks. 

That  when  the  sunlight  thrills  my  soul, 
And  gleams  afar  o'er  hut  and  dome, 
And  when  clouds  shift  in  murky  air, 
I  feel  Thy  presence  everywhere, 
I  give  Thee  thanks. 

That  when  my  steps  are  faltering, 
And  indecision  hides  my  path; 
When  doubts  and  fears  obscure  my  sight, 
Thy  guidance  leads  me  to  the  light, 
I  give  Thee  thanks. 


58  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

I  MUST  GO  BACK 

J.  MERLE  STEVENS 

I  must  go  back  and  find  again 
The  little  home  I  used  to  know; 
I  must  go  back  and  live  once  more 
Those  happy  days  of  long  ago. 
I  must  go  back! 

Adown  the  unforgotten  way 
I'll  find  my  childhood  home  once  more, 
The  weeping  willow  by  the  well, 
And  mother  standing  at  the  door. 

The  trundle-bed  where  once  I  slept — 
I'll  kneel  again  beside  it  there, 
And  as  my  mother  taught  me  then, 
I'll  say  again  my  evening  prayer. 

The  sweetheart  of  the  long  ago — 
I  must  go  back  and  find  her,  too, 
With  golden  hair  and  sunny  smile, 
And  eyes  that  like  the  skies  were  blue. 

The  old  romance,  the  youthful  dreams, 
Have  gone  too  far,  too  far  away, 
I  must  go  back  to  them  again, 
Some  where  along  the  backward  way. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  59 

I  must  go  back  and  find  again 
The  childhood  hope  that  knew  no  fears ; 
I  must  not  lose,  in  manhood's  ways, 
The  God  and  faith  of  childhood's  years. 

Ah,  me !  the  days  that  used  to  be ! 
How  far,  how  far  they  seem  away! 
I  seek  them  through  the  mist  of  years — 
It  is  so  far  to  yesterday! 
I  must  go  back ! 


60  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

SUNRISE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE 

KATHARINE  HART 

The  thick  grey  clouds  lie  piled  in  masses  high; 
The  south  wind  softly  sweeps  the  silent  plain; 

The  pale  stars  wane; 
Afar  the  lightning  comes  and  goes  again; 
All  nature  sleeps,  tho'  waking  time  is  nigh. 

Alone  a  tiny  insect  lifts  its  voice ; 

Is  answered  back — repeats  its  questioning  notes. 

Then  upward  floats 
From  myriad  infinitesimal  throats 
The  gladsome  song — "The  Night  is  gone !  Rejoice !" 

Down  in  the  east,  among  the  tints  of  grey, 
Appears  a  long,  low  line  of  golden  light. 

In  glory  bright 

The  sun  sends  forth  strong  beams  of  radiant  might, 
And  clears  the  pathway  for  the  coming  day! 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  61 

THE  EXULTANT 
KATHARINE  HART 

Comes  the  Exultant, 

Speeding  on  buoyant  feet  through  ether  rare, 
His  face  uplifted  to  the  burning  stars, 
His  heart  enfolding  all  the  universe, 
And  Life  and  Love  within  his  outstretched  hands. 
With  dauntless  mien  he  fronts  the  ardent  sun, 
Triumphant,  fearless  in  its  pulsing  light; 
The  joy  of  joy  expands  his  radiant  form, 
And  peans  ecstatic  swell  his  raptured  soul. 

Lo !    The  Exultant ! 


62  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

WHEN  BABY  WRITES 
CLAUDE  HOLLAND  GAMBLE 

When  baby  writes, 

He  puts  a  piece  of  pencil  in  his  hand 

And  gets  a  sheet  of  paper,  large  or  small, 

And  then  he  makes  some  letters  that  are  grand, 

Although  you  cannot  read  the  things  at  all — 

When  baby  writes. 

When  baby  writes, 

He  makes  a  square  and  then  a  curving  line; 
Perhaps  he  makes  a  cross  across  the  sheet, 
And  every  daddy  says  his  writing's  fine 
When  baby  writes. 

When  baby  writes, 

He  doesn't  use  the  language  that  you  know ; 

He's  got  a  little  language  all  his  own: 

A  cross  means  love,  a  dot's  a  kiss — just  so; 

To  dads  and  mas  and  babies  they  are  known — 

When  baby  writes. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  63 

THIS  DAY 

(Armistice  Day,  1921) 

CLAUDE  HOLLAND  GAMBLE 

Three  years  ago  the  big  guns  worked — then  halted; 

Three  years  ago   the   rifles   spoke — then  stilled; 
Three  years  ago  the  Right  was  high  exalted; 

The  war  was  ended  as  our  Nation  willed; 
Three  years  ago  we  pledged  our  faith  and  station; 

Three  years  ago  we  owed  our  men  a  debt; 
Three  years  ago  we  promised  God  and  Nation 

Our  best.    God  help,  lest,  foolish,  we  forget ! 


64  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

LITTLE  OLD  HOUSE 
W.  KEE  MAXWELL 

Little  old  house  with  the  big  front  yard, 
Where  the  phlox  and  asters  grow, 

Where  the  sentinel  maples  stand  on  guard 
In  a  silent,  soldierly  row, 

Whithersoever  my  steps  may  roam, 

Little  old  house,  you  are  home,  sweet  home ! 

Rollicking  kids,  on  your  friendly  floor, 
How  we  romped  the  years  away! 

Little  old  house,  by  your  low  front  door 
There  was  crepe  on  a  springtime  day. 

Sobbing  and  laughter,  smiles  and  tears, 

These  you  shared  in  the  long-gone  years. 

Time  is  a  tide  that  is  never  still; 

Ever  it  sweeps  us  on 
Further  and  further  from  Youth — until 

Life,  ere  we  know,  is  gone. 
Little  old  house,  how  the  years  have  flown 
Since  you  knew  and  sheltered  me  as  your  own ! 

Little  old  house,  there  is  luxury 

In  my  modern  domicile ; 
An  architect  earned  himself  a  fee 

To  fashion  its  grace  and  style. 
But  oh,  were  it  marble  with  gilded  dome, 
Little  old  house,  you  are  home,  sweet  home ! 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  65 

RAIN 
W.  KEE  MAXWELL 

Rain  a  little,  rain  a  lot, 
Rain  all  day,  it  matters  not. 
Though  the  lanes  like  freshets  run, 
Love  is  love  in  rain  or  sun. 

Drizzle,  drizzle,  drab  and  gray, 
Through  the  weary,  dreary  day — 
Never  matter;  rain  and  sun 
Are  the  same  when  love  is  done. 


66  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

YOUTH 

JULIA  KEMPSHALL  CLARK 

I  am  Youth. 

I  drink  from  the  fountains  of  life, 
I  ride  on  the  sunbeams  at  dawn, 
I  dance  while  you  mourn, 
And  I  am  unafraid. 
You,  in  advance,  step  aside! 
You  can  not  impede  my  approach. 
I  must  conquer — I  always  conquer. 
Obstacles  do  not  appall  me, 
Heap  them  high  as  you  will, 
For  I  know  that  the  world  is  mine, 
All  that  there  is — is  mine. 
A  few  years  and  all  power,  wisdom,  knowledge,  are 

in  my  grasp, 
For  I  am  the  Future's  statesman,  scholar,  scientist, 

merchant,  soldier,  ruler. 

You  can  not  deny  me ;   you  can  not  even  delay  me ; 
No  power  so  mighty  that  I  may  not  o'ercome  it. 
Mine  is  the  stride  of  the  conqueror; 
In  my  heart  is  the  strength  of  the  victor. 
Love  is  mine;  love  mighty,  compelling, 
Love  creative,  consuming. 
Life  and  love  are  mine ;  none  can  deny  me. 
Onward  I  come.    Step  aside !    Step  aside ! 

I  am  the  feminine  of  Youth. 

I  dance  and  I  dress,  I  sing  and  I  laugh, 

For  aeons  are  futile  without  me. 


PEOR1A  BOOK  OF  VERSE  67 

In  my  arms,  weak  though  they  seem, 

Shall  be  cradled  the  might  of  the  future. 

From  my  pains  and  my  anguish 

Spring  Earth's  power  and  glory. 

No  nation  so  strong  it  can  set  me  aside ; 

Thrones,  kingdoms,  republics  are  naught  without  me. 

The  world  lies  in  my  untried  grasp. 

Life,  love,  joy,  pain, — ye  are  mine — all  are  mine. 

****** 

I  am  the  masculine  of  Youth. 
The  world  waits  for  me — welcomes  me. 
I  can  take  what  I  reach — none  denies  me. 
All  power  is  mine,  I  feel  it  astirring; 
Age,    manhood    and    womanhood    are    naught    be- 
side me. 

Love  calls,  resistless,  puissant. 
From  my  loins  spring  the  hordes  of  the  nations; 
Legions  await  only  my  summons. 
Life's  vista's  aglow  with  resplendence; 
The  game  is  a  glad  one,  I  shrink  not,  I  fear  not, 
For  I  am  the  victor,  predestined  through  time. 
On  life's  pinions  I  come.     Step  aside !     Step  aside ! 


68  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

UNITY 

(A  Memorial  Day  Poem) 
HASKELL  READY  ARMSTRONG 

One  flag  above,  one  land  beneath; 
One  nation  proud,  its  arms  in  sheath. 
One  thought,  one  sorrow;  gone  are  they 
Whose  deeds  we  honor  here  today. 

One  flag  above,  one  land  beneath; 
One  nation  proud,  its  arms  in  sheath. 
One  heart,  one  head  bowed  down  to  pray 
For  those  we  honor  here  today. 

Two  flags  had  they,  two  lands  they  knew; 
Two  armies  brave  their  trusts  kept  true. 
Two  were  they  then — one  now  are  they 
Whose  lives  we  honor  here  today. 

One  flag  o'erhead,  one  earth  beneath; 
Let  nations  all  their  arms  ensheath; 
Let  kingdom  quarrels  give  place  to  love ; 
Stop  war,  O  Infinite  Power  above ! 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  69 

MY  HOUSE  OF  FAME 
FRANCES  NANCY  MARTIN 

Long  years  ago  when  Life  and  Thought  were  young, 
I  planned  a  wondrous  House  of  Fame 

Therein  to  dwell  in  gratified  content 
As  all  sang  praises  to  my  name. 

But  Time  sped  swiftly  by  me  year  by  year 

With  Duty  calling  me  by  name, 
And,  when  the  necessary  tasks  were  done, 

No  time  was  left  to  build  for  Fame. 

And  now  with  ripened  years,  I  ask,  oh,  Life, 
Not  laurel  wreath,  not  plaudits  loud, 

But  give  me  strength  to  lend  a  helping  hand 
To  those  in  grief  and  sorrow  bowed. 

I  ask  for  health  to  do  some  needed  work, 
For  friends  whom  I  may  trust  and  love, 

For  vision  clear  to  see  beyond  Life's  clouds 
To  greater  usefulness  Above. 


70  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

LIFE'S  CIRCLE 

WILLIAM  ALEXANDER  BONE 

We  live  in  circles  just  as  big 

And  broad  as  we  are  great; 

Inside,  a  paradise  of  love; 

Outside,  the  fires  of  hate. 

We  draw  a  ring  around  a  chosen 

Clique  or  special  clan; 

Inside,  we  label  caste;  outside, 

We  give  to  common  man. 

And  thus  our  love  may  circle  self, 

Without  a  single  friend, 

Or  reach  around  the  world,  and 

Like  the  circle  never  end. 

I  limit  mine  by  just  how  much  of 

Life  I  strive  to  live; 

I  measure  it  by  just  how  much  of 

Love  I  try  to  give. 

Your  circle  may  not  circle  me, 

Nor  hold  a  love  for  two ; 

Yet,  I  can  draw  a  circle  big  enough 

To  encircle  you. 

Your  love  may  turn  me  down  as  if 

Your  circle  thought  me  sin; 

And  yet,  my  love  can  circle  out  and 

Take  your  circle  in. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  71 

Your  circle  may  be  hate,  and  you 

May  shut  and  bar  the  doors; 

And  yet,  love's  circle  never  ends; 

'Twill  always  circle  yours. 

There  is  no  boundary  line  to  God's 

Infinite  sphere  of  love; 

It  covers  all  the  earth  and  reaches 

To  the  stars  above — 

Like  Him,  who  came  to  save  the  world, 

To  raise  it  from  its  fall, 

His  circle  was  so  big  and  broad — His 

Love  encircled  all. 


72  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

DOUBTING  THOMAS 

WILLIAM  ALEXANDER  BONE 

Ben  Franklin  says,  "I'll  take  a  kite  an'  key 

An'  shock  the  world  with  electricity. 

Nobody's  done  it  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Go  slow! 

Old  man,  your  bonnet's  full  o'  bees-^- 

No  'lectric  shocks  in  kites  an'  keys." 

But  then  there  was.    Old  Benny  sailed  his  kites 

Till  all  the  world  has  got  electric  lights. 

Then  Eli  Whitney  says,  "Guess  I'll  start  in 

An'  figger  out  some  sort  o'  cotton  gin. 

Nobody's  done  it  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Go  slow! 

My  boy,  the  world  has  got  enough — 

Won't  anybody  drink  the  stuff." 

But  then,  "he  got  there,  Eli"  with  his  gin 

An'  this  old  world  begun  to  weave  an'  spin. 

Then  Cy  McCormick  vowed,  "I'll  bring  to  pass 

A  time  when  man  can  ride  an'  mow  the  grass. 

Nobody's  done  it  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Won't  mow! 

No  man  will  ever  see  the  day 

He'll  beat  a  scythe  fer  cuttin'  hay." 

But  then  he  did.    The  old  McCormick's  mowed 

Most  all  the  timothy  that's  ever  growed. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

But  old  Bob  Fulton  had  a  funny  dream 
About  a  boat  he'd  build  to  run  by  steam. 
"Nobody's  built  one  that  I  know," 
But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Won't  go ! 
The  idee  trav'lin'  anywhere 
By  power  o'  steam — it's  all  hot  air !" 
You  bet  it  was.     I've  been  takin'  notes 
An'  find  the  sea  is  full  o'  steamin'  boats. 

Then  Sam'l  Morse  swore  that  he  could  fire 

Intelligence  right  through  a  coil  o'  wire. 

"Nobody's  done  it  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Won't  go ! 

The  idee  of  a  simple  sound 

A  foller'n  coils  o'  wire  around!" 

But  then  it  did.     Old  Sammy  turned  the  trick. 

An'  now  the  telegraph  goes  click-ity-click. 

An'  now  Marconi  up  an'  says,  "I  jing! 

I  have  no  use  fer  wires  ner  anything. 

Nobody  needs  them  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "No  show 

Fer  him !    Jest  watch  him  rave  an'  tear — 

That  feller's  talkin'  through  the  air." 

You  bet  he  wus.    He  choked  old  Tommy's  laugh 

An'  gave  the  world  a  wireless  telegraph. 


74  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

An'  there's  them  flyin'  Wrights,  Ohio  dudes, 
Both  up  an'  said  they'd  conquer  altitudes. 
"Nobody's  done  it  that  we  know," 
But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Don't  crow! 
Can't  see  no  wings  ner  tail  in  sight, 
An'  don't  believe  them  boys  be  Wright." 
But  then  they  was.    Sailed  altitudes  so  high 
Blame  Yankee  dudes  put  near  run  out  o'  sky. 

Then  old  Prof.  Roentgen  says,  "With  my  X-ray 

I'll  see  what's  in  a  man  as  plain  as  day. 

"Nobody's  done  it  that  I  know," 

But  Doubtin'  Thomas  says,  "Not  so ! 

There  ain't  no  livin'  man  kin  see 

A  tarnel  thing  inside  o'  me !" 

Guess  he  was  right.    Prof,  turned  his  X-ray  on 

But  couldn't  find  a  thing — Tom's  brains  was  gone. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  75 

THE  MUTUAL  FRIEND 

(To  a  Soldier  in  France) 
ERNEST  A.  PASQUAY 

The  daylight  fades; 
Soft  evening  shadows  fall; 
Night  spreads  her  sable  wings, 
And  solitude  pervades. 

Flooding  the  sky 

With  limpid  golden  light, 

The  smiling  moon  breaks  forth, 

And  fleeing  clouds  float  by. 

My  searching  glance 
Through  vaulted  sky  beholds 
The  Star,  which  greeted  you — 
Somewhere  in  France. 


76  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

LIFE'S  PROMISE 
BESSIE  CURRAN  SMITH 

Sunset  comes  with  wondrous  glow, 
Just  before  the  twilight  gray, 

Bringing  with  its  mellow  light 
Promise  of  another  day. 

Autumn  comes  with  richest  tints, 
Warmly  touching  everything, 

Bringing  with  its  lavish  wealth 
Promise  of  another  spring. 

So  the  change  which  we  call  death- 
For  the  soul  is  Nature's  rest — 

Bringing  with  its  mystic  power 
Promise  of  victorious  quest. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  77 

WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

ELLA  BESEMAN 

Great  pile,  thou  speak' st  a  language  of  thine  own! 
Thy  chapels,  towers,  monuments,  and  spires, 
Thy  carvings,  tombs,  ana  every  stone  on  stone 
Breathe  of  the  souls  once  filled  with  heavenly  fires. 
What  builders  brought  their  noblest  gifts  to  thee ! 
What  artists  wrought  through  countless  weary  hours ! 
What  kings  before  thine  altars  bent  the  knee ! 
What  honored  dead  came  here  when  earth's  fair 

bowers 

No  longer  held  them  with  a  magic  spell ! 
In  truth,  thou  glorious  temple  of  the  Lord, 
Thou  art  the  home  of  earth's  great  thoughts  as  well; 
In  thee,  ideals,  hopes,  honors,  dreams  are  stored. 
Thou  sayest  to  the  world's  admiring  eyes, 
"The  soul  lives  on,  'tis  but  the  clay  that  dies." 


78  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

JUSTICE 
MARK  LANGDON  ROWELL 

The  rulers  of  earth  are  new, 

But  the  laws  of  the  earth  are  old, 
And  will  compass  the  range  of  the  seasons  of  change 

Till  the  fullness  of  time  is  told. 

Ye  can  build  in  what  manner  ye  will, 
But  your  fabric  will  fall  to  the  flaw. 

Ye  may  think  to  do  wrong  by  the  right  of  the  strong, 
But  ye  cannot  evade  the  law. 

Ye  may  hold  up  its  wisdom  to  scorn; 

Ye  may  mock  at  the  might  of  its  breath, 
But  its  truth  will  outlive  any  slur  ye  can  give, 

For  "the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

The  nations  have  governed  the  earth 
In  the  might  of  their  power  and  pride, 

Whom  the  wrath  of  the  world  to  destruction  hath 

hurled 
For  the  law  that  they  cast  aside. 

The  kings  of  the  earth  have  built 

On  the  dust  where  their  fathers  slept, 

And  have  mustered  their  braves  on  the  turf-sodded 

graves 
Where  the  wars  of  their  sires  have  swept. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  79 

The  fabric  of  earth  is  old, 

And  the  dust  on  its  altars  is  deep. 
Will  ye  boastingly  sing  of  the  wisdom  ye  bring 

Nor  remember  the  law  ye  keep? 

For  the  law  shall  forever  endure, 

And  your  children  shall  bow  to  its  rod 

In  obedience  meet  till  they  climb  to  the  feet 
Of  its  maker,  and  judge,  and  God. 


80  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ALLEGORY 

JOSEPH  ROWE  BINFORD,  JR. 

At  close  of  day  when  dusk  is  nigh, 
A  glory  road  shines  in  the  sky 
And  flames  and  flashes  far  on  high 
When  dusk  is  come. 

The  dead  are  dead,  and  in  their  stead 
Is  naught  to  mark  that  they  have  bled, 
Save  many  a  poppy's  brilliant  red, 
At  evening  time. 

A  half  majestic,  earthly  throng, 
The  hosts  of  battle  march  along, 
Supernal  voices  raised  in  song, 
In  praise  of  Him. 

On,  on  they  go.    The  light  is  dim; 
On,  on  beyond  the  earth's  gold  rim, 
The  hosts  of  battle  follow  Him, 
Through  sunset's  glow. 

The  glory  road  leads  to  the  west; 
The  dead  are  marching  to  their  rest, 
And  Christ  enfolds  them  in  His  breast, 
At  close  of  day. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  81 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  SPRINGTIME 

LIESEL  BEWSHER 

As  softly  as  a  flitting  moth, 

Spring  came,  dancing,  in  the  night 

And  left  behind  her  as  a  gift 

My  little  pear  tree  decked  in  white. 

A  burst  of  bloom  on  every  twig, 

She  holds  her  head  with  dainty  pride, 

Waiting  for  the  errant  wind, 

Who  comes  to  claim  her  for  his  bride. 


82  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

OH,  WHAT  A  DAY! 

RUTH  VIRGINIA  GIBSON 

Gray  day,  gray  skies, 

Winds  that  whistle  and  screech; 
Black  waves,  green  waves, 

Sweeping  over  the  beach. 
Calling  wildly, 

Birds  fly  swiftly  away; 
Far,  near,  all  drear, 

Oh,  what  a  day !    What  a  day ! 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  83 


What  does  the  young  corn  know 

But  to  exist  and  grow? 

Its  glad,  green  arms  stretched  mutely  up  to  God; 

Firmly  implanted  in  the  clean,  moist  earth 

Which  gave  it  birth, 

It  lives  a  life  of  thankfulness,  each  row 

Loving  its  root-run  clod. 

What  does  the  peach  tree  know 

But  to  exist  and  grow? 

For  April's  beauty  fades  in  autumn  time; 

Yet  in  each  homely  branch  there  breathes  and  lives 

The  glow  it  gives  when  blossoms  blow. 

It  is  His  gift — unseeing  man  is  slow 

To  follow  the  sublime. 


84  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

SHRINE 

HELEN  IDA  MORROW 

A  candle  was  shaped  for  a  shrine  by  a  child, 

New  to  the  ways  of  worshipers. 

She  molded  the  wax  in  her  hands,  and  smiled 

At  the  prayer  she  would  pray, 

At  the  chant  she  would  say, 

At  the  flowers  she  would  lay 

On  the  altar. 

A  god  wandering  past  said,  "Fire  you  have  none; 

Let  me  blow  on  your  candle  and  give  it  a  flame ; 

You  must  have  fire  though  your  gods  be  of  stone." 

So  he  gave  her  a  fire 

That  trembled  higher, 

And  smiled  at  the  wistfulness  of  her  desire 

Lest  it  falter. 

She  saw  the  slow  smile  as  it  dreamed  on  his  face, 
Ere  he  stepped  to  the  throne  by  the  shrine  she  had 

hewn. 

His  shrine  and  his  flowers, 
His  sun  and  his  showers, 
Even  the  days  and  the  hours 
His. 

She  stumbled,  half-sleeping,  toward  the  shrine, 

And  her  candle  she  put  at  his  feet. 

"The  candle  and  shrine  and  chant  are  thine, 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  85 

The  candle  I  made; 
The  chant  I  prayed; 
You  lit  the  flame  on  the  candle,"  she  said. 

Did  he  hear?    Did  he  see?    Ah,  who  knows? 
Was  she  woman  or  child? 
I  believe  he  arose,  half-startled  to  see 
Such  a  gypsy  there, 

Scarlet  leaves  in  her  hair 

Was  it  Eden  and  angel  and  sword  to  dare? 

"I  have  candles  enough  on  my  shrines,"  said  he; 
"Keep  that  warm  in  your  heart  for  me." 
.And  smiled. 


86  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSL 

FRIEND 

HARVEY  NORMAN  RINGEL 

You  take  me  from  the  shadowy  lanQ 
And  show  to  me  the  glorious  sun. 

Which  tries  to  hide  itself  in  vain 
Among  the  clouds  so  silvery  spun. 

Lovely  pictures,  too,  you  paint 

Of  the  future  yet  to  be, 
And  then  the  hosts  of  heavenly  saints 

Lend  all  their  earthly  aid  to  thee. 

And  when  to  you  I  tell  my  heart, 
You  seem  to  live  my  sorrow,  too 

As  if  it  were  a  secret  part 
Of  the  heart  God  gave  to  yoi 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

A  BUSY  CORNER 
RUSSELL  EDWARD  McMuRRAY 

A  bustling  crowd,  a  noisy  street, > 
A  street  car's  clang  and  shuffling  feet, 
Policeman's  whistle,  newsies'  cries, 
A  muddled  noise  that  seldom  dies, 
The  autos'  horns,  the  motors'  hum, 
And  street  cars  clattering  as  they  come, 
All  jumble  till  one  noise  is  heard, 
And  this  is  summed  up  in  one  word — 
Confusion. 


87 


88  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

MELANCHOLY 

LAWRENCE  WILLARD  COCKRELL 

Violets  demure  and  butter-cups  sweet, 
Bright  new  leaves  and  grasses  springing, 
Breezes  warm,  their  promise  bringing, 
Came  my  mournful  face  to  greet — 
I  did  not  see. 

Daffodils  gayly  dancing  after 
Winds  have  gently  kissed  their  heads, 
Daisies,  smiling  from  their  beds, 
Speak  of  joy,  of  love,  of  laughter — 
But  not  to  me. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  89 

SPRING 

ALSACE  MOINE  CROSBIE 

Spring  calls  from  over  the  hills; 

She  has  come. 

In  the  woods  her  soft  voice  rises; 

She  has  come. 

In  my  garden 

So  recently  covered  with  snow, 

Wee  flowers  in  delicate  robes  arise 

And  peep  from  under  their  sheltering  green. 

In  the  warm,  brown  earth, 

Grey,  ugly  bulbs  expand  and  burst, 

And,  pushing  their  pale  shoots  upward, 

Break  forth  from  their  winter  home 

And  appear  in  my  garden. 


90  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

THE  CLIFF 

ALICE  LOVERIDGE 

It  was  God's  resting  place  in  this  great  universe. 

At  high  noon 

Could  be  heard  the  soft  twitterings 

Of  the  birds, 

The  peaceful  rustle  of  the  leaves, 

And  the  ever-restful  wash,  wash  of  the  waters. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  91 

MOONRISE  ON  A  MISTY  EVENING 

t 

THELMA  LORRAINE  CROSBIE 

A  great  orange  lantern 

Rising, 

Hanging, 

Glowing  in  a  blue-grey  sky. 

Soft,  pale-yellow  mist 

Veiling, 

Enfolding, 

Caressing  the  gleaming  ball. 


92  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

BLOSSOM-SHRINE 
CAMILLE  MAHANNAH 

Crazy  Jim  walks  past  my  door 
Every  day  at  a  quarter  to  four; 
I  wonder  what  in  the  world  he  sees 
As  he  gazes  up  at  my  apple  trees. 

Just  now  when  they  are  in  blossoms  dressed 
And  robins  and  orioles  have  found  a  nest, 
And  on  every  cluster's  delicate  pink 
Pauses  a  homing  bee  to  drink, 
Old  Jim  stretches  forth  his  arms  so  wide 
As  if  to  gather  that  beauty  inside. 

Perhaps  up  in  the  branches  there, 
Smiles  down  a  dryad  wondrous  fair, 
For  Jim's  bent  hat  with  its  battered  straw 
Is  doffed  in  reverential  awe, 
And  his  dim  eyes  glow  with  a  holy  light 
As  if  Diana  greeted  his  sight. 

Crazy  Jim  walks  past  my  door 
Every  day  at  a  quarter  to  four; 
I  wonder  what  in  the  world  he  sees 
As  he  gazes  up  at  my  apple  trees. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  93 

INDIAN  WOMEN 
DOROTHY  CROWDER 

From  the  native  village  come  the  Indian  women, 
Bringing  their  basket^  to  sell  to  the  townspeople; 
Three  of  them  are  coming  slowly  up  the  street, 
Each  bearing  a  basket  on  her  head  and  a  child  in 

her  arms; 
Their  gaudy  pink  and  red  skirts  drag  on  the  dusty 

ground, 
And  around  their  heads  are  rusty,  mournful  black 

scarfs. 
They  are  tired,  and  sit  on  a  curbstone,  resting  and 

nursing  their  babies, 
Shielding  them  with  their  scarfs  from  the  glances 

of  passers-by; 

A  customer  approaches;   they  haggle  over  prices, 
But  finally  the  basket  is  sold,  and  they  go  on  their 

way,  stolidly, 
Talking  among  themselves  in  strange,  guttural  tones. 


94  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

FROM  THE  DESERT 

DOROTHY  CROWDER 

On  the  corner  stands  a  lone  cactus; 

Its  fellows  are  far  away  in  the  desert. 

It,  too,  was  once  of  the  desert, 

But   a   town   sprang   up    around   it,    destroying   its 

kindred. 

It  bristles  now  in  its  armor,  defying  man  to  touch  it, 
And  turns  its  proud  gaze  to  the  mountains, 
Defiant,  alone. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  95 

FRIENDS 

FROM  AN  ARIZONA  EASEL 

DOROTHY  CROWDER 

i 
I  have  some  rugged  mountain  friends. 

I  could  watch   forever  their  restless  shadows   and 

colors; 

Sometimes  they  are  bleak,  forbidding, 
Their  peaks  looking  coldly  toward  the  sky. 
Sometimes   they   withdraw   and   shroud   themselves 

with  a  veil  of  mist, 

Later  emerging,  their  heads  covered  with  snow. 
But  I  love  them  most  at  sunset, 
When  they  are  aflame  with  gorgeous  color — 
Then  they  are  friendly,  and  seem  to  wish  me  well. 


96  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

LAKE  EVENING 
HOLLAND  DEWITTE  ROBERTS 

Little  waves  are  lapping  all  along  the  shore, 
Whispering  together,  tapping  at  the  door; 

In  and  out  the  moonbeams  patter  golden  bright, 
Weaving  webs  of  shadow  from  the  woof  of  night. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  97 

REQUIEM 
HOLLAND  DEWITTE  ROBERTS 

Last  night  I  dreamed  of  flowers, 
Great  bunches  of  pinks  and  roses, 
And  you  among  them,  shaking  them  in  showers 
Over  me  as  I  lay  sleeping  in  the  sun. — 
Now  I  wander  like  a  lonely  ghost, 
Feeling  the  emptiness  of  dreams 
When  they  are  done. 


98  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

A  MID-SUMMER  BONNET 
MARY  ROBINSON  GIBSON 

Oh,  what  a  love  of  a  mid-summer  bonnet ! 
See  the  adorable  fripperies  on  it! 
Misty  with  lace  and  with  crepe  de  chine  shirring, 
Feelings  of  longing  in  maiden  hearts  stirring. 
See  the  deep  pink  in  the  rose  petals  glowing, 
Just  a  wee  bit  underneath  the  brim  showing. 
Light  as  a  fancy  of  fairy  creation, 
Wearing  it  causes  a  thrill  of  elation. 
"Isn't  it  dear?"  echo  girl  voices  gladly, 
Searching  each  purse  for  the  price  of  it,  madly. 
"Isn't  it  dear?"  asks  the  one  who  will  wear  it; 
"Terribly  dear!"  yes,  her  father  will  swear  it. 
Just  for  some  lace  with  a  few  roses  on  it — 
Ah,  but  it's  such  an  adorable  bonnet! 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTES 
AUTHORS  REPRESENTED  IN  THIS  BOOK 
HASKEL  READY  ARMSTRONG. 

Born  in  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  in  1891.  Lived  in  Peoria 
since  1901.  Eight  years  in  newspaper  work  in  news  and 
editorial  departments.  Manager  of  a  life  insurance  agency  in 
1922.  Founder  and  first  president  of  Lions  Club  of  Peoria. 

ELLA  BESEMAN. 

Born  in  Dresden  in  1861.  Lived  in  Peoria  since  1862. 
Teacher  and  principal  of  a  public  school.  President  of 
Peoria  Teachers'  Club,  1906-1907.  President  of  School 
Mistresses  Club  of  Illinois,  1907-1908. 

LIESEL  BEWSHER. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1894.     Kindergarten  teacher,  Peoria. 

JOSEPH  ROWE  BINFORD,  JR. 

Born  in  Bolton,  Texas,  1896.  In  Peoria  since  1910.  Student. 

WILLIAM  ALEXANDER  BONE  (BILL  BONE) 

Born  in  Petersburg,  111.,  1869.  Lived  in  Peoria  since 
1912.  Lecturer  and  entertainer.  Author  of  'Tiuixt  Twilight 
and  Dafwn  (poems)  and  House  of  Man  (prose  and  poety — a 
lecture).  In  lyceum  and  Chautauqua  work  for  eighteen  years. 

EUGENE  DE'  AGUERO  BROWN  (GENE  BROWN) 

Born  in  Elmwood,  111.,  1875.  In  Peoria  since  1876.  Busi- 
ness, real  estate  sub-divisions.  Author  of  Thanksgiving  and 
Other  Rhymes,  Life  Pictures  and  Other  Thoughts,  Rhymes 
'Round  Home,  and  Little  Brown  Book.  Has  been  president 
of  Aircraft  Club,  Auto  Trails  Association,  Good  Roads  Asso- 
ciation, and  Illinois  Valley  Protective  Association. 

99 


100  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 

Born  in  Greensboro,  Pa.,  1844;  died  in  Pasadena,  Calif., 
1914.  Removed  to  Peoria  in  boyhood.  Newspaper  writer  in 
Peoria.  Later,  editor  of  Burlington,  la.,  Hanukeye,  on  which  he 
made  his  reputation  as  a  humorist.  Afterwards  on  Brooklyn 
Eagle.  Began  lecturing  in  1876.  Became  licensed  minister 
of  the  Baptist  Church  in  1887.  Ordained  and  became  pastor 
of  Temple  Baptist  Church,  Los  Angeles,  Calif.,  in  1903  ;  made 
pastor  emeritus,  1909.  Author  of  Hawkeyetems,  Rise  and  Fall 
of  the  Moustache,  Sumach  Garden,  Life  of  William  Penn, 
Sons  of  Asaph,  Smiles  Yoked  with  Sighs,  Chimes  from  a 
Jester's  Bells,  Drums  of  the  47th,  and  others. 

ANN  CALENDAR  BURDICK  (MRS.  CHARLES  S.) 

Born  in  Peoria,  1875;  died,  1914.  Author  of  Thoughts 
in  Verse.  Contributor  to  several  magazines  of  national 
circulation. 

JULIA  KEMPSHALL  CLARK  (MRS.  ANDREW  G.) 

Born  in  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  in  the  40's.  In  Peoria  since 
1900.  Author  of  Out  of  the  Ruts.  Contributor  to  religious 
and  other  magazines  and  newspapers.  Traveller,  art  student, 
and  club  lecturer.  Founder  of  Inter-Church  League,  Peoria, 
and  president  for  ten  years.  Founder  of  As  You  Like  it 
Club,  Peoria. 

LAWRENCE  WILLARD  COCKRELL. 

Born  in  Harper,  Kansas,  1900.  In  Peoria  since  1917.  Stu- 
dent in  Peoria  High  School  and  assistant  in  Peoria  Public 
Library. 

ALSACE  MIONE  CROSBIE. 

Born  at  Grand  Rapids,  Mich.,  1905.  In  Peoria  since  1914. 
Student  in  theological  course,  Tufts  College,  Mass. 

THELMA  LORRAINE  CROSBIE. 

Born  in  Joliet,  111.,  1903.  In  Peoria  since  1914.  Student, 
Peoria  High  School.  Winner  of  Rice  Memorial  essay  prize  on 
"City  Improvements"  in  1920  and  Woman's  Relief  Corps 
essay  prize  on  "Patriotism"  in  1917. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  101 

DOROTHY  CROWDER. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1898.  Teacher  of  English,  Peoria  High 
School,  1919-21.  Doctor's  assistant,  1922.  Wrote  senior  class 
play  at  Bradley  Polytechnic  Institute,  1917. 

ELIZABETH  WORTHINGTON  DENISON. 

Born  at  Woodstock,  Vt.,  1836;  died,  1920.  Resident  of 
Peoria  at  different  periods  from  1856  to  1896.  Teacher  in 
public  schools.  Principal  of  Pettingill  Seminary,  Peoria. 
Author  of  a  book,  Lucy's  Way  Out  of  the  Dark,  also  poems, 
essays,  and  short  stories.  Charter  member  of  Peoria  Women's 
Club  and  of  the  Memorial  Day  Association. 

GEORGE  HELGESEN  FITCH. 

Born  at  Galva,  111.,  1877;  died  1915.  Lived  in  Peoria, 
1905-1915.  Editor,  Peoria  Transcript,  1905-1913.  Author  of 
At  Good  Old  Siiuash,  Homeburg  Memories,  These  United 
States,  My  Demon  Motor  Boat,  and  stories  published  in  The 
Saturday  Evening  Post,  Collier's,  American  Magazine,  and 
others.  Member  of  Illinois  General  Assembly,  1913-1915. 
Was  President  of  American  Press  Humorists'  Association. 

CLAUDE  HOLLAND  GAMBLE  (Cm  GAMBLE) 

Born  at  Woodhull,  111.,  1886.  In  Peoria  since  1915.  Editor 
of  Galva  News,  1909-1915.  Successively  reporter,  managing 
editor,  and  editor  The  Peoria  Journal,  1915-1922.  Since  July 
1922,  editorial  writer,  Peoria  Evening  Star.  Contributor  to 
Judge.  Member  of  American  Press  Humorists'  Association. 

MARY  ROBINSON  GIBSON. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1870.  Teacher  in  public  schools,  1859-1901. 
Soprano  soloist  in  Peoria  churches,  1892-1901.  Secretary,  West 
End  Literary  Club.  Author  of  verses  published  in  local  news- 
papers. 

PHILIP  LEIGH  GIBSON. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1902.  Newspaper  reporter,  and  then  assist- 
ant publicity  manager  for  the  Illinois  Traction  System.  Con- 
tributor to  local  newspapers  and  several  magazines.  Chair- 
man of  Publicity  Committee,  Peoria  Advertising  and  Selling 
Club. 


102  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VEKSE 

RUTH  VIRGINIA  GIBSON. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1904.  In  Circulation  Department,  Peoria 
Journal-Transcript.  Literary  editor  of  The  Manual  during 
part  of  high  school  course. 

KATHARINE  HART. 

Born  in  New  York  City,  1854.  Resident  of  Peoria  since 
1879.  Music  teacher.  Writer  of  Children's  stories,  poems 
and  miscellaneous  magazine  articles.  Founder  of  Amateur 
Musical  Club.  Director  of  Student  Department  of  Amateur 
Musical  Club  for  eleven  years. 

ROBERT  GREEN  INGERSOLL. 

Born  in  Dresden,  N.  Y.,  1833;  died  at  Dobb's  Ferry,  N.  Y., 
1899.  Spent  childhood  in  Wisconsin,  and  after  1843  in  Illi- 
nois. Practiced  law  in  Shawneetown,  111.  Removed  to  Peoria 
in  1860.  Colonel  of  Illinois  cavalry  in  1862.  Appointed 
attorney  general  of  Illinois  in  1866.  Attained  national  fame 
as  an  orator  in  a  nominating  speech  in  favor  of  James  G. 
Elaine  in  1876.  Famous  as  a  lecturer  and  writer  against  the 
Christian  religion.  Author  of  Gods,  Ghosts,  Some  Mistakes 
of  Moses,  Prose  Poems,  etc. 

JULIA  HARRIETTE  JOHNSTON. 

Born  in  Salineville,  Ohio,  1849;  died  in  Peoria,  1919. 
Resident  in  Peoria,  1859-1919.  Writer  of  religious  books, 
notes  on  Sunday  School  lessons  and  hymns.  Author  of  School 
of  the  Master,  Bright  Threads,  Life  of  Adoniram  Judson, 
Who  Was  It?,  Fifty  Missionary  Heroes,  Our  Spanish  and 
Indian  Neighbors,  and  Benedictions  of  the  Bible.  For  twenty 
years  president  of  the  Woman's  Presbyterial  Society  of  Peoria 
Presbytery.  Vice-President  Presbyterian  Board  of  Missions  of 
the  Northwest. 

WILLIAM  JAMES  LEACH  (REVEREND) 

Born  in  Callingwood,  Ontario,  Canada,  1875 ;  died  in 
Peoria,  1922.  Lived  in  and  near  Peoria,  1899-1922.  Minister 
and  student;  later,  minister  and  newspaper  writer.  First 
student  in  Bradley  Polytechnic  Institute  to  win  prize  in  an 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  103 

oratorical  contest  at  University  of  Chicago.  Served  in  Fifth 
Illinois  Infantry  during  Spanish-American  War.  During 
the  World  War  served  with  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  Camp  Pike 
and  then  six  months  in  France  with  the  Second  Division, 
U.  S.  A.  Pastor  of  Methodist  churches  in  Morton,  Pekin, 
Averyville,  and  El  Paso,  111.  Author  of  Poems  and  War 
Letters. 

CAMILLE  MAHANNAH. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1897.  Teacher  of  English  in  Manual  Train- 
ing High  School.  Author  of  a  number  of  short  stories  and 
poems.  President  of  Bradley  Polytechnic  Institute  English 
Club,  1921-22.  Winner  of  Bradley  Institute  short  story  con- 
test, 1917  and  1918. 

FRANCES  NANCY  MARTIN. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1868.  Musician  and  writer,  especially  of 
children's  stories. 

W.  KEE  MAXWELL. 

Born  at  Bardolph,  111.,  1879.  Lived  in  Peoria  for  six  years. 
Editor  of  Peoria  Transcript  and  The  Peoria  Journal.  Left 
Peoria  to  become  editor  of  The  Akron  Times,  Akron,  Ohio. 
Writer  of  stories  for  magazines  of  which  his  best  known 
are  The  Yellow  Peril  in  The  American  Magazine  and  The 
Baseball  Mascot  in  Collier's.  An  officer  in  the  American 
Press  Humorists'  Association. 

RUSSELL  EDWARD  McMuRRY. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1905.  Student  in  Peoria  High  School. 
Writer  of  verses  for  local  newspapers.  Circulation  manager 
of  the  High  School  Opinion,  1921-22. 

HELEN  IDA  MORROW. 

Born  in  Eureka,  111.,  1899.  Lived  in  Peoria  one  year, 
writing  for  local  newspapers.  Returned  to  Eureka  College. 
Her  poem  "Rain  at  Night,"  published  in  a  book,  American 
Verse.  Miss  Morrow  made  the  original  suggestion  that  led 
to  the  very  successful  Festival  of  Poetry  held  at  Eureka  in 
1921.  She  was  secretary  of  the  Festival  Association. 


104  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

JOHN  J.  O'KEEFE. 

Born  in  Ireland,  1855.  Lived  in  Peoria  since  1872.  Has 
been  an  engineer  and  fireman,  and  later  a  special  night  watch- 
man for  certain  homes  on  Moss  Ave.  His  poems  have  been 
published  in  newspapers  in  New  York,  Chicago,  and  San 
Francisco,  as  well  as  Peoria. 

ERNEST  A.  PASQUAY. 

Born  in  Brooklyn  N.  Y.,  1861.  Lived  in  Peoria  since  1876. 
Engaged  in  the  wholesale  grocery  business. 

SAMUEL  PATTERSON  PROWSE. 

Born  in  Greenock,  Scotland,  1856;  died  in  Peoria,  1921. 
Resident  of  Peoria  since  1894.  Telegraph  editor,  Peoria  Eve- 
ning Star;  then  Collector  of  U.  S.  Customs  in  Peoria;  and 
finally,  for  several  years,  librarian,  Peoria  Public  Library. 
A  popular  speaker  and  local  writer. 

HARVEY  NORMAN  RINGEL. 

Born  in  Peoria,  1903.    Student,  Peoria  High  School. 

HOLLAND  DEWITTE  ROBERTS. 

Born  in  Springfield,  Nebraska,  1895.  In  Peoria  1899-1916. 
While  in  Peoria,  a  student  in  Bradley  Polytechnic  Institute. 
Later,  student  at  University  of  Chicago,  then  in  the  Army,  and 
now  principal  of  the  high  school  at  Arlington  Heights,  Illinois. 
Contributor  of  stories  to  several  magazines.  Literary  editor 
of  Les  Soldats,  an  A.  E.  F.  magazine  in  Dijon,  France,  dur- 
ing the  World  War. 

MARK  LANGDON  ROWELL. 

Born  in  Winona,  Minn.,  1890.  In  Peoria,  1913-1916,  as 
a  student  and  assistant  instructor  in  Bradley  Polytechnic  In- 
stitute. Winner  of  George  Fitch  Memorial  Medal  for  poetry, 
1916.  Teacher,  and  mechanical  and  electrical  engineer  since 
leaving  Peoria. 

FLORENCE  JEFFERS  SHEARER  (MRS.) 

Born  in  Henderson,  N.  Y.,  1861.  In  Peoria  since  1920. 
Contributor  of  verses  to  newspapers. 


PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE  105 

ARTHUR  GALUSHA  SMITH  (DR.) 

Born  in  Morris,  Illinois,  1871.  In  Peoria  since  1881. 
Dentist.  Secretary  of  Illinois  Dental  Society  and  editor  of 
its  Bulletin.  When  member  of  School  Board,  helped  start 
dental  clinic  in  public  schools.  Writer  on  both  scientific  and 
literary  subjects.  Reader,  singer,  actor.  One  of  the  moving 
spirits  in  organizing  the  Peoria  Players. 

BESSIE  CURRAN  SMITH  (MRS.  ARTHUR  G.) 

Born  in  Delavan,  111.,  1877.  In  Peoria  since  1897.  Mu- 
sician. Has  been  secretary  of  Peoria  Players  and  of  the 
Amateur  Musical  Club.  Member  of  Board  of  Directors  of 
Women's  Club,  and  of  the  State  Art  Extension  Committee. 

ELLEN  GALUSHA  SMITH  (MRS. WILLIAM  HAWLEY) 

Born  in  Lisbon,  111.,  1849;  died  in  1922.  In  Peoria  from 
1881  to  1922.  Painter.  For  many  years  an  officer  in  the 
Peoria  Art  League.  Charter  member  of  Peoria  Women's 
Club.  Writer  of  essays  on  philosophical  and  theosophical 
subjects. 

WILLIAM  HAWLEY  SMITH. 

Born  in  Sunderland,  Massachusetts,  1845 ;  died  in  1922. 
In  Peoria,  1881-1922.  Newspaper  editor  and  publisher,  manu- 
facturer, author,  lecturer,  sociologist,  and  always  a  teacher. 
Author  of  Promoters,  Walks  and  Talks,  and  Children  by 
Chance  or  by  Choice;  also  two  notable  books  on  education : 
Evolution  of  Dodd  and  All  the  Children  of  All  the  People. 
One  of  the  foremost  platform  speakers  of  his  time.  Traveled 
with  Bill  Nye  one  season,  1891-1893. 

JOHN  LANCASTER  SPALDING  (MOST  REVEREND) 

Born  in  Lebanon,  Ky.,  1840;  died  in  Peoria  in  1916. 
Chancellor  of  Diocese  of  Louisville,  1871.  Consecrated  Bishop 
of  Peoria  in  1877.  Created  titular  Archbishop  in  1909. 
Author  of  Essays  on  Religion  and  Art,  Essays  and  Reviews, 
The  Religious  Mission  of  the  Irish  People,  Education  and  the 
Higher  Life,  Things  of  the  Mind,  Thoughts  and  Theories  of 
Life  and  Education,  Opportunity  and  Other  Essays,  Religion, 


106  PEORIA  BOOK  OF  VERSE 

Agnosticism  and  Education,  Socialism  and  Labor  and  Other 
Arguments,  America  and  Other  Poems,  The  Poet's  Praise, 
Songs,  chiefly  from  the  German,  and  Life  of  Archbishop 
Spalding. 

J.  MERLE  STEVENS  (REVEREND) 

Born  in  Mount  Vernon,  Iowa,  1868.  In  Peoria  since  1907. 
Pastor  of  Union  Congregational  Church.  Lecturer  on  the 
Chautauqua  platform.  Writer  of  poems  for  magazines.  Au- 
thor of  Shakespeare  as  a  Religious  Teacher.  President  of 
Allied  English  Interests  of  Peoria,  1922. 

JOSEPHINE  BOWMAN  WETZLER  (MRS.  T.  E.) 

Born  in  Peoria,  1895.  Contributor  to  local  newspapers  and 
other  periodicals. 

JULIA  PROCTOR  WHITE  (MRS.  CHARLES  F.) 

Born  in  Peoria,  1875.  Resident  of  Peoria,  1875-1891  and 
since  1900.  Always  active  in  the  interests  of  art  and  better 
community  life.  Musician  and  composer;  play  actor  and 
writer  of  plays  for  children;  director  of  the  Recreational 
Art  Studio  of  Peoria;  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Peoria 
Players  and  of  the  Peoria  Society  of  Allied  Arts.  Has  been 
president  of  the  Peoria  Women's  Club,  an  officer  in  the  Free 
Kindergarten  Association,  and  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Women's  Civic  Federation. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  IULINOI9-URBANA 


30112041724276 


